


The Last Book of the Winchester Gospels

by Balder12



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Dark, Gen, Post-Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, The Winchester Gospels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balder12/pseuds/Balder12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the angels fall their power has to go somewhere.  It goes into the Cage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Book of the Winchester Gospels

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this [prompt](http://blood-and-pie.livejournal.com/18754.html?thread=83522#t83522) by [Monicawoe](monicawoe.livejournal.com) at [Something Wicked--2013 Fanwork Horror Meme](http://blood-and-pie.livejournal.com/18754.html)

_Herein is contained the last book of the Winchester Gospels. It came to pass that the Winchesters sought to seal Hell for the salvation of mankind, but in the critical hour their courage failed them. The gate of destruction remained wide, and the broad way was tread by many feet._

Sam’s breathing is shallow and his skin is hot and dry. From time to time his forehead furrows and his lips move as if he’s trying to speak, but he never makes a sound. He keeled over when the angels put on their fireworks display, and he’s been dead to the world ever since. It’s been over a day.

Dean puts cold washcloths on his forehead and paces around the bedroom. Once he tries to shake Sam awake from sheer frustration, but it doesn’t work and he ends up feeling like a kid poking a dead animal with a stick. Sam’s not a dead animal. He just needs to rest.

Cas isn’t taking calls. Dean chooses to believe it’s because Cas is too busy with the latest angel crisis to answer, and not that his brothers turned on him, or Crowley’s people got to him, or God knows what shady faction of humans found a use for a fallen angel. Dean curses the empty space where his friend should be.

A hospital trip is out of the question. There were already military vehicles on the road when Dean drove Sam back to the bunker. He doesn’t want to face the roadblocks and the inevitable, unanswerable questions. He’s got visions of Sam being taken away from him by the government to be quarantined and tested like fucking E.T. If Sam doesn’t wake up enough to take fluids there are IVs in the bunker, and Dean doubts there’s much else a doctor could do to help trials sickness anyway.

_The first born sons of the Father were cast out by the traitor Metatron, and their voices rose in unison, entreating God for mercy in vain. Their powers were stripped from them, and fell through the earth to the realm below. Locked in his Cage, the Morning Star took unto himself their fallen grace, and through it tasted the suffering of his brothers._

Dean tears himself away from Sam only when his craving for whiskey briefly grows stronger than love or fear. When he gets to the kitchen Kevin is sitting over a bottle of Jack Daniels in the dark. Dean flips on the overhead light and Kevin covers his eyes, groaning in pain. “Turn it off! Turn it off! Jesus Christ!” Dean does as he’s told, bewildered. It had never occurred to him the boy was still here.

“Fucking migraine,” Kevin mutters, downing what’s in his glass. He pours himself another, slopping it over his hand. He sucks whiskey off his thumb and stares at Dean.

“Maybe if you ate more and drank less you wouldn’t have to live like a mole person,” Dean says, although he’s one to talk.

Kevin doesn’t answer. As Dean’s eyes adjust to the dim light he sees that Kevin’s hands are black with ink, and that his face is streaked with it where he’s wiped his brow. He must be working on the angel tablet.

“I figured you’d be in the wind by now,” Dean says.

“Where would I go? Everyone I know is dead. Crowley’s people are still out for me. Hell, probably the angels too. Besides, I run and you two will just hunt me down, same as before. Won’t you?” Kevin watches him, looking a decade too old and a century too weary.

Dean shrugs. Kevin’s got a point, or he would if Sam were well enough to go on a prophet hunt. The angel tablet is their best hope of fixing whatever the hell just happened out there. Dean’s not inclined to let the only person who can translate it give him the slip. Besides, it’s for Kevin’s own good that Dean keeps an eye on him. Dean needs to believe that.

“You can stay as long as you want,” Dean says. He hopes Kevin wants to live in the bunker, at least for now. It’ll let Dean avoid a lot of moral problems.

Kevin eyes Dean like every terrible thought Dean’s ever had is written on his face. Maybe it is. “The internet’s down. And the cable,” Kevin says. He takes a gulp of whiskey and makes a face like he’s trying not to spit it out. Kevin’s eighteen. Even Dean didn’t learn to like straight whiskey until he was past twenty.

“Yeah, well, I’m not the cable guy. Figure it out.” Dean steals back his bottle of Jack and walks out.

_The Morning Star wept to see his brothers brought so low. Now they all knew the agony he had suffered when he was cast from Heaven. He longed to break free of his prison and lead them back to their rightful place around the throne. His newly puissant wings strained against their bonds._

On the third day Sam’s fever breaks. He doesn’t wake up, but his sleep seems quieter, and there’s a healthy color to his cheeks. Dean’s so relieved he chatters away to Sam’s unconscious form. He promises to take Sam to the farmer’s market as often as he wants, and threatens to make him eat steak until he’s got his strength back.

Dean prays again to Cas, saying, “Hey, thanks for nothing. Guess Sam didn’t need you after all.” A few minutes later he adds, “I don’t care what you’ve done. Please come back.” Neither prayer gets a response.

Dean’s so happy that when he runs into Kevin in the hallway he says, “Sam’s getting better!” like it’s news the boy has been longing to hear. Dean doesn’t honestly believe Kevin gives a damn—he wouldn’t if he were in Kevin’s position—but Cas is AWOL and Sam’s asleep. Dean needs someone to celebrate with.

Kevin blinks at him owlishly. The entire front of his shirt is smeared with ink. “Dean?” he says after a moment, and looks around like a sleepwalker newly awakened. “I need to . . . no, _you_ need to . . .” His voice trails off. His lips work like there’s something he’s fighting to say, but no words form. Finally he stops and shakes his head, clearing it. When he’s done he looks a little more like the Kevin Dean knows.

“The radio,” Kevin says at last. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I found an old one lying around and tried to fix it, but it doesn’t get reception. It’s almost like . . .”. He looks confused. After a moment he turns away and continues down the hall. It’s weird, even by Dean’s liberal standards.

“Hey, get some sleep,” Dean calls after him.

Kevin doesn’t turn around. “Fuck sleep. I have green pills.”

_“My brother,” said the Morningstar to the Archangel Michael, “you served our Father faithfully, and for your service you were cast into Perdition, even as I was. You have seen with your own eyes that the race of men is weak and perfidious. Even the righteous man forgot his duty unto you. Join your strength with mine, and together we will restore our kind to their former glory and scourge the vermin from the earth.”_

Sam’s temperature doesn’t stop falling when it hits 98.6. His skin grows cold and clammy. His breath is so low that Dean has to put a mirror to his lips to be sure he’s still alive. At 95 degrees Dean starts to panic. How could Sam have hypothermia when he’s safely in bed? Dean piles blankets on top of him and throws in a hot water bottle without effect. Finally he joins Sam under the covers, still clutching the hand mirror, and hopes his body heat will accomplish something.

Dean doesn’t mean to fall asleep. He wants to count every breath Sam takes, but he hasn’t slept in days and the bed is warm, even if his brother isn’t. He only closes his eyes for a little while.

When he wakes up Sam is gone. His heart skips in fear and excitement. Sam woke up. Maybe he’s all right after all. Dean steps out into the hall and calls Sam’s name.

Sam doesn’t answer, but after a moment Dean hears Kevin’s voice. “Dean?”  He doesn’t sound scared.  The tone is,  _Come see this_.  So Dean does.

Sam’s back is to the door of Kevin’s bedroom. Kevin gazes up at him from his cot. He’s never looked smaller than he does now, caught in Sam’s shadow. The walls are covered from floor to ceiling in Enochian text.

Sam doesn’t so much as twitch when Dean walks in, but Kevin splits his gaze between them warily. “I thought the radio was broken,” Kevin says to Dean. It sounds like an apology. “But it was just that no one was broadcasting.”

“Do you know who I am?” Sam asks Kevin. The voice is gentle and benignly curious. Dean hears it in his nightmares.

“Yeah. I’m a prophet. I was your dad’s bitch and now I’m yours.” Kevin looks over at Dean and nods at the wall. “It’s the last book of the Winchester Gospels. He made me write it. This is how it ends.”

Sam—no, not Sam—turns to face Dean. “Yes is yes forever. I’m sorry Dean. I really am.” He says it like he means it, and that makes it so much worse.

The words die in Dean’s throat. Lucifer looks him over appraisingly, like his body is an expensive suit on the rack. “I’m afraid you have something we need.”

_Bright with the strength of their brothers, Michael and the Morning Star shattered the Cage. They overthrew the traitor Metatron and restored the firstborn sons of the Father to their birthright. Heaven and Earth were cleansed of the iniquities of men, and the gates of Hell were sealed. The princes of the power of air ruled justly, and all prospered in the light of their love. For theirs is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen._

 

 


End file.
